Too Much of a Good Thing

When we moved to France we had romantic notions of wandering around the markets squeezing the melons and sniffing the tomatoes. Anna, my wife, even purchased a wicker basket to carry home the produce. But, in reality we do our weekly shop at Lidl and the basket is used to store our phone and iPad cables. 

Every week Anna will stagger back from town with our three bags-for-life full of all the fruit and veg we have to eat before it goes off (so much for squeezing and sniffing). The carrots seem to last 24 hours before giving up on life and the potatoes' black bruises can require continuous peeling until there is nothing left. We like the lack of choice you get in Lidl (not the greatest advertising slogan) and Anna loves the non consumable items at the back. She did the 'big' shop one week and came back with a sewing machine!

When it comes to dining out we are equally as unadventurous. We once spent a day in Milan and ate in McDonald's ...twice! We have had Big Macs in some of the finest cities in Europe: Barcelona, Lisbon, Parthenay. It is shameful, I know (we don't even like McDonalds that much), but we know the system. 

Going into Panda wok for the first time was a daunting experience. For those who don't live in the greater Parthenay area, Panda wok is an industrial warehouse where you can eat as much as you like. Food from around the world is sitting in trays (a bit like classy school dinners) and you can help yourself. It is a legendary tourist attraction with visiting family and friends. “How about a trip to the largest Oriental Gardens in Europe or we could explore the architectural wonders of Chateau Breze?” I ask. “Pan-da wok! Pan-da wok!” they will chant back. 

It was lovely to receive our first visitor from the UK since the Covid rules were relaxed. And as our MSG levels were low a trip to the warehouse of dreams was suggested. The establishment now has a small robot which takes you to your table with flashing lights and music playing. Everyone looks round at the new greedy people arriving. 

I'm not one of these adventurous people who will pick a raw piece of surf and turf to be cooked on the spot by the man with the wok. No, for my dining experience I will have three plates of the beige food which has passed through the deep fat fryer, I will then complain that I am full and want to go home. I'm not proud, but that's the way I am...predictable. 

One of the many good things concerning the Wok is you pay when you enter, so there is no faffing about at the end of the meal, trying to get the waiter's attention. No, you just put your coat on and stagger out, clutching your stomach.

I am an all-or-nothing sort of person. I cannot enjoy a glass of wine or two, I will continue to the end of the bottle and then suggest opening a second. An alcoholic if you will. Anna didn't drink much when we first married (apart from Diet Coke), but over recent years she has acquired a taste for the red stuff (show her a bottle of Barefoot and her pupils dilate) and we now argue over who has poured themselves the fuller glass. We lower ourselves to coffee table level to assess the who's got more. Pathetic, but there you are.

Similarly when we cruised round the Mediterranean a few years ago we could not believe the amount of food on offer. When sunning ourselves on the poop deck the first afternoon, a bell was rung and people around us jumped up and started queuing for afternoon cake. How desperate, we thought. A couple of days later we were jumping up with the rest of them. Pavlov would have been proud. By the end of a two week cruise I struggled to get into any of the clothes I had arrived with, apart from my pyjamas. 

With a long list of friends and relatives coming to visit this year, I may well be calling on the services of my trusty pyjamas come September.

NB - Other supermarkets, fast food restaurants and eat-as-much-as-you-like-food-from-around-the-world warehouses are available.